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rushed thither and flung himself down, bursting his head against the stones. I myself saw him there, lying motionless and dead."
This was the end of Ulysses. I have already remarked at the beginning of this narrative that I felt less of sorrow than of relief over the catastrophy. Long association had made him dear to me in many ways, yet I was not prepared to endure him as master. There could be no other outcome to the unhappy situation
